


A Necessary Confrontation

by DoctorTrekLock



Series: Resolution19 [50]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Requited Love, Requited Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21579490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: Phil spared a glance for the coffee pot on top of a filing cabinet on the other side of his office. He turned a sardonic eyebrow on Clint and opened his mouth to respond before he hesitated for a split second.In that moment, it seemed like all the life drained out of him. The spark faded from his eye, his eyebrow was returned to its proper home, and everything that wasPhilwas buried under the veneer of Agent Coulson that he slid on like a suit. Just like it had been for the past seven weeks.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: Resolution19 [50]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1275806
Comments: 20
Kudos: 158





	A Necessary Confrontation

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “I think I’ve been holding myself back from falling in love with you all over again.”  
> Source: <https://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/130059129307/random-sentence-starters>
> 
> Originally posted November 26, 2019 on [Tumblr](https://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/189324592962/a-necessary-confrontation-november-26-2019)

"Hey! I was thinking about getting some lo mein from that Chinese place three blocks over. You want anything? Fried rice?" Clint asked from the door of Phil's office. "I know you're practically wedded to that coffee pot, but there are other food groups in the world," he teased.

Phil spared a glance for the coffee pot on top of a filing cabinet on the other side of his office. He turned a sardonic eyebrow on Clint and opened his mouth to respond before he hesitated for a split second.

In that moment, it seemed like all the life drained out of him. The spark faded from his eye, his eyebrow was returned to its proper home, and everything that was _Phil_ was buried under the veneer of Agent Coulson that he slid on like a suit. Just like it had been for the past seven weeks.

"No, thank you, Agent Barton," he responded smoothly. "I have a few more reports to file before I can leave for the day, and I'd rather finish them before dinner."

Clint bit back a frustrated sigh. "'Course," he said tightly.

He was halfway down the hall, resisting the urge to pull his hair out, when he made the snap decision that this wasn't going to go on for another day. He and Phil were going to have it out right now, and maybe then they could get back to the way things used to be.

Without breaking stride, Clint sketched a neat half-circle and tromped back to Phil's office, letting himself inside and shutting the door before leaning on it, boxing them both in.

"No," he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest and slouching against the door. Part of it was attempting to defend against his own vulnerability - shut up, yes he went to his psych appointments - but it was also partly to relax the atmosphere and try to impress upon Phil the importance of finishing this conversation now, one way or another.

Clint ignored the way his heartbeat picked up slightly at the possibility that he and Phil _wouldn't_ be on more steady ground after this. 

"Agent Barton," Agent Coulson said slowly, setting his pen down gently and neatly next to the stack of forms in front of him. The edges of the paperwork were perfectly square with the desk. "Would you be so kind as to inform me why you have barricaded us both in my office?" His left eyebrow twitched upward slightly, but it wasn't the sarcastic tilt that Phil would have had. Instead, it was just a few shades off the way Fury would pin you to a wall and eviscerate you with a glare when you dared to barge into his office without permission.

Clint faltered for a moment at the look, but reminded himself sternly that _this_ was why he was here. Because the Phil he knew was a far cry from this hard-hearted bastard. "No," he repeated, slightly quieter, but no less forceful. "I'm not leaving until we talk about this."

"I am not sure what you believe we have to talk about, Agent," Coulson said smoothly, but Clint saw a flicker in Phil's eyes and knew that _Phil_ knew exactly why he wanted to talk.

"You've been avoiding me since Dhaka," Clint said, taking pains to keep his voice steady. "I want to know why."

Clint could tell that the sheer Agent Coulson facade was splintering at the edges, bits of Phil peeking through in the quirk of his mouth and the inflection of his voice. "If I have been remiss in my duties or have acted in an unprofessional manner, I would urge you to contact--"

Clint waved him off impatiently and Coulson trailed off. "C'mon, Coulson. Both of us know that hell would freeze over before you were unprofessional." _Unless you count abruptly imploding a six-year working relationship for no reason_ , he added silently.

At his words, though, Agent Coulson crumbled entirely, leaving Phil sitting on the other side of an impossibly neatened desk, staring at Clint with something like dismay and regret in his eyes. Clint's blood ran cold and his crossed arms loosened. That was never a good sign on anyone, much less Phil Coulson.

"I would like to apologize," Phil said, squaring his shoulders but not quite meeting Clint's eyes. Clint held his breath, waiting for the explanation that was sure to follow. "Although I have endeavored to retain a professional demeanor--" and Phil really only broke out the big words when he was feeling out of his depth "--it appears as though I was unsuccessful in that regard."

Clint just gaped at him. This was not quite what he had been expecting. "To that end," Phil continued doggedly, still not looking right at Clint, "I believe it would be in both of our best interests were I to tender a request for your transfer to a different handler." Here, he faltered. "It would be for the best," he whispered, dropping his gaze to the razor-sharp edge of the stack of forms in front of him.

Clint's breath caught in his throat. This...wasn't what he'd wanted. This was, in fact, the exact _opposite_ of what he wanted. "No," he said, the word catching in his throat. He swallowed and repeated, louder, "No."

Phil did meet his eyes then, and Clint could see remorse and sorrow. The closest relationship Clint had in his life had just ended abruptly, just like every other good thing that had ever happened to him.

Well, Clint decided, straightening up, not this one. Not today. Not if he could help it. He stepped forward to the front of Phil's desk and planted his hands firmly on either side of the paperwork stacked in the center. "No," he repeated firmly, catching Phil's gaze and holding it. "I don't know what happened in Dhaka, or why you're not talking to me," Clint said. "But you can't get rid of me that easily."

He was an archer, first and foremost, a marksman, so he had long been trained out of any nervous ticks. His hands hadn't shaken since he was a teenager, unless you counted the time four years earlier when he'd had a fever of 103 and still managed to make the shot, despite fine tremors running through his entire body. Clint's hands never shook, but if they did, he was sure he'd have them clenched tight enough at the moment to leave nail marks in his palms. As it was, he kept them flat on Phil's desk and kept his eyes on Phil, hoping that this was the push Phil needed to finally just _tell him_ what was going on.

It worked. Phil crumpled like a house of cards, slumping in his chair, closing his eyes, and burying his face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he croaked out. He took a deep breath, then let it out. Clint didn't say anything, didn't move a muscle, just stood as steady as a rock and waited. Phil took a couple more deep breaths before lifting his head and folding his hands over the top of his paperwork. His face was dry, but his eyes were red.

"I'm sorry, Clint," Phil said evenly, keeping his eyes fixed on Clint's, just a scant foot away. "I have been trying to be professional about this, but obviously I've failed. You're well within your rights to have me replaced as your handler. I can recommend at least a dozen agents who would be thrilled to take you on. Agent Sitwell, for example."

Clint shook his head, still half-bent over Phil's desk. "No," he repeated easily. "I don't know what's going on with you, but I'd like to, since it's obviously been affecting our working relationship. And honestly," he added, "I'm not sure there's anything you can say that would make me request a transfer. Not unless you're, like, kicking puppies in your off-time."

Phil's mouth quirked up a quarter-inch on one side. "You know as well as I do that no one over Level 5 has _any_ off-time, puppies or no. Clint," he continued, growing serious again. "I--well... I realized something in Dhaka, and I've been trying to fix it as best I can, but it's obviously not working."

"What is it?" Clint asked, and he was so glad to _finally_ be getting to the root of the problem. "What happened?"

And that was really the question at the heart of the whole thing, wasn't it. Dhaka had been a non-event as far as Clint was concerned - Phil's later weirdness notwithstanding. A quick, efficient hit with delayed exfil had led to three days of Clint and Natasha exploring the older part of town, an amused Phil in tow. It hadn't been until they'd been on the quinjet home that Clint had noticed Phil's odd behavior. Tasha had been mum on the subject, which meant she'd also noticed it, but didn't have any more clue than he did about what had caused Phil's uncharacteristic behavior over the last two months.

Phil's gaze wavered, but he didn't drop his eyes from Clint's. "I realized in Dhaka that I was in love with you," he said quickly, with the air of one ripping off a bandage. "And since then I've been trying to hold myself back from falling in love with you all over again, and I almost had it, and--" he broke off, frustration biting off his words.

Clint's brain flatlined. "Wh--What?" he managed, thankful for his grip on Phil's desk to keep him upright.

Phil's shoulders were tight with tension. "I've been trying to hold myself back from falling in love with you all over again," he repeated. "But I don't quite think it's working, so if you'd like to request a transfer, I can have the paperwork ready to go within half an hour."

"Right," Clint said, dazed, the second part of Phil's statement not even computing after his brain managed to process the first sentence. "I'm going to kiss you now," he said.

Phil's mouth dropped open. "What?" he said. "I mean--what?"

"If you don't stop me," Clint said, a giddly sensation bubbling up in his stomach. "I'm going to kiss you right now." The effervescent fluttering in his belly definitely included some butterflies, but this was also the steadiest he'd felt in weeks.

"Okay," Phil said, disbelief coloring his words. "If you're sure--"

Clint rocked forward and cut him off with a kiss.

It wasn't the most elegant of first kisses. For once, Clint's aim had failed him in his eagerness and he had caught the edge of Phil's mouth. But Phil's lips were soft and his protest quickly turned into an enthusiastic agreement. After a few moments, Phil's hands were even clutching Clint, one hand on his shoulder to support him, another on the side of his face to direct him, and man, Clint had never imagined a kiss could be that much of a metaphor for their entire relationship.

The thought made him smile, which made kissing slightly difficult, and Phil pulled a few inches away, both of them breathing heavily, to disjointedly ask, "What-- Why--"

"Because I've been in love with you since Marrakesh," Clint said. "I mean, who wouldn't be?" he continued, joy adding levity to his words. "There I was, chained up in the back room of an international terrorist's riad, and you stroll in like you were meant to be there the whole time, straightening your cuffs and coolly asking if they were going to be turning themselves in or if you'd have to make them. God, I wanted to jump you right there," he said dreamily, leaning in to steal another kiss.

Phil let him, mouth slack with surprise. "Marrakesh," he repeated, pulling back to get a better look at Clint. "That was five years ago."

"A very long five years," Clint agreed. "Tasha's run out of ways to describe how pathetic I am. I think she was going to try Afrikaans next." He smiled, but he knew it was a little too crooked to be convincing.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," Phil said, reaching for Clint again and pulling him close across the desk, breathing in the familiar scent of Clint's hair.

"Don't be sorry," Clint told him, leaning back just enough to give Phil a soft, gentle kiss. "I'm just glad you're here now."

Phil kissed him again. Clint did not complain in the least.

At least he didn't until he turned his body slightly and his shoulders told him he'd been leaning across Phil's desk for much too long. Clint winced and pulled back. "Aw, body, no," he mumbled, cringing as he slowly straightened up and stretched, his muscles twinging.

Phil hummed in amusement and stood with him, then glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. "It's getting late," he said, then shot Clint a sly sideways glance. "Can I still take you up on dinner?"

Clint grinned and stretched his arms up a little further, enjoying the way Phil's eyes slid down his body before snapping back up when Clint said cheerily, "It's a date."

There was a beat where Phil seemed to be absorbing that. Then he beamed, the widest smile Clint had ever seen on him. "That it is," he said, stepping into Clint's space to give him a kiss. "That it is."

Well, it was just natural at that point to lower his arms around Phil's shoulders and deepen the kiss. His lo mein wasn't going anywhere.


End file.
